


The Path of Most Resistance

by Lizardbeth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, C-Bucs, Caprica Resistance, Cylons, Downloaded, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the movement to change her people fails, Sharon takes a different path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path of Most Resistance

* * *

The plan started to fall apart immediately. Her 'sisters' were easily swayed by the Ones and Threes, and Sharon's status as a 'hero' faded as quickly as it had come. Caprica was away, trying to convince the Sixes, and Sharon found herself alone, more and more. The Threes started to watch her with gleaming eyes and Sharon knew they were going to box her.

She remembered bright blue eyes and a dogtag belonging to a friend; and she remembered her doppelganger who turned on the Cylons to be with Helo. If it happened once, it could happen again. Anders hadn't shot her. He owed her his life. Maybe that could be a chance to prove her usefulness.

The unthinkable started to prey on her mind.

She remembered military classes at the Academy - those were real - and an instructor telling them to seize opportunity. A slim chance was better than no chance.

She decided to stop wavering and make a frakking _choice_ , and since none of her options looked great, she chose the one that offered a chance to do something better.

She headed for Delphi, with a bag full of food and anti-radiation meds in hand, and tried to figure out how to contact the resistance - how to beg for mercy from the only one who might give it to her - without getting killed. She climbed and watched with binoculars. They were pretty good as they came into town, but she had a great view from the top of the radio tower and she could see the dust rise of their vehicles. They headed for the west side of town and she shimmied down the tower and started walking, figuring they were either going to strike at the police armory or the hospital.

She hid at the sound of any activity. Nobody was her friend right now. She could control the Centurions but being seen with them would only make her a target. The city's dust choked her throat, as she hid next to a fallen wall at the sound of gunfire -- small arms, large caliber, and repetitive Centurion fire. The resistance was close. She hesitated just a moment, knowing that this was the line; if she crossed this, there was no going back.

Pulling her sidearm from the back of her waistband from beneath her jacket, she approached cautiously and shrank low behind a dumpster as two humans came running down the street, watching behind and firing at the Centurions coming up behind them. She peeked over the edge of the fallen concrete to look: it was him, Anders, with a red-headed woman.

She pulled the pin on her only grenade and threw it, right in the middle of the oncoming Centurion squad. It exploded, hurling metal in every direction, and she was already running toward them, shooting them in the head quickly before they could see her and report. Other gunfire joined hers, taking them down. Then carefully holding her weapon pointed at the ground, she turned. "Hello again."

Both snapped their weapons on her and the woman spat, "Toaster!"

But Anders barked, "Wait." His eyes narrowed, suspicious but still willing. "You stopped them. Why."

She dropped her sidearm to the pavement. "I did it before," she explained. "In the parking garage. That was me."

The woman's aim didn't shift, but his did, and he lifted the weapon's barrel off her. "What do you want?"

"I was on the _Galactica,_ " Sharon explained hastily. "I was a sleeper. I didn't know what I was. I was friends with Starbuck." He twitched as the sound of her callsign. "I was - I thought I was human. I think like a human still. I can help you, I can tell you things. I want to help. I want to stop them. Please, give me a chance."

"T, you can't believe her. She's gonna be like Doc Simon, attack us from the inside," the redhead snarled.

"No!" Sharon blurted. "Please." She swallowed and held out her hands in surrender. "I know you hate my kind -- I would, too. But I ... I put myself at your mercy. Please, let me help."

He glanced up the street, thinking. He lowered his rifle to point at her again. "Let's get the hell out of the middle of the street. You make any move I don't want and I will shoot you in the frakking head," he warned coldly. "Turn right and walk."

She started walking in the indicated direction but she said, "There's a bag, behind me, to the right. There's food and anti-radiation meds. Peace offering."

"Jean, get it." He followed Sharon and she could hear when he paused to pick up her sidearm. She wondered if he knew she could kick him in the head when he did that. Clearly Starbuck and Helo didn't hang around the resistance long enough.

Sharon didn't turn to look but she heard as Jean looked through the bag. "Cans and some med cartridges. And there's a picture. Bunch of Fleet officers, including a copy of this toaster and Thrace."

"That was me. That's why I recognized her name on your tag," Sharon said, trying not to let her voice catch. They're never going to be her friends again, not after what she did. She betrayed them, betrayed the Old Man...

"If you think that wins you some kind of bonus points, it doesn't," Anders said sharply. "But I learned things from the other Sharon, and you might be useful. Jean, frisk her and bind her hands. We're taking her back."

"Sam, are you sure of this?" Jean asked.

"Frak no," he said with a bark of a laugh. "But let's not tell the others that."

Jean had some experience at hand-tying - she made the ropes tight and tied a good knot while Sam held his weapon on Sharon's face. His eyes held hers while Jean patted her down, looking for more than weapons, turning her pockets inside out and pressing her clothes with a thorough and impersonal touch, with a curled lip of disgust. When it was done he told her, voice hard, "We're going to walk. If you call out and bring down more on us, I will shoot you in both knees so it takes you hours to die in pain."

She swallowed, nervously, remembering dying when Cally shot her. "I won't."

They walked. Once they had to hide from a Centurion patrol. Sharon felt the barrel of Jean's rifle in her back, but Sharon had no intent of calling out and they passed oblivious. Sam paused at the corner and nodded to Jean who sidled around the corner to check it out then whistled for them to come ahead. There were two more humans there, hiding in the shadows as they entered a parking garage entrance.

"You have it?" Anders demanded.

A dark-skinned man she didn't know, but wearing C-Bucs colors so she presumed he was a team-mate, answered, "Yeah, we got it all." Then his eyes flared at the sight of Sharon there. "What the frak, Anders?"

Anders answered flatly, "Prisoner. Cripke, you drive. Take a circuitous route in case they're following or tracking her. Hillard, you take shotgun. Barolay and I'll be in the back with our guest. Get up and in," he ordered Sharon who climbed into the back of a canvas-covered truck. She sat on the metal floor of the truck, Barolay watching her carefully as Anders climbed in. The engine rumbled and they were soon pull up and out, onto the street.

"Talk to me," he ordered. "Make me believe you."

She faltered, not knowing quite how to answer. "After Caprica Six and I saw you in the garage, we tried to convince the rest to stop. That the attacks were wrong and we should go. Instead all we did was convince them we're defective. And there's only one thing they do with defective models - they get boxed. There's no resurrection, just... nothingness. I thought I'd rather get boxed for actually trying to help you, than sit there and do nothing." Her fingers clutched together, rubbing the rope against her wrists. "My sister left them for love. Surely I could do the same to try to make amends. To try to help. And because I don't want to die," she admitted in a whisper. "I ... died once. I don't want to die again."

Anders' face gave nothing away of his thoughts and he turned to peek out the back flap, rifle ready.

"Should've thought of that before you started murdering people by the billions, bitch," Barolay sneered.

"I didn't!" Sharon protested. "I was on _Galactica._ " Then she closed her mouth, pain and regret slipping through her at the memory. Because she'd done her share of trying to murder people, all against her will. She sighed. "I suppose that doesn't matter."

After a moment, Anders said, "It matters. You and that Six saved me. I know that. You didn't have to. Because you knew Kara."

Sharon's gaze slipped to the Fleet tag strung around his neck and she quirked a bit of a smile. "I know Starbuck doesn't give those out like candy."

His free hand reached up to touch the tag, for a moment his face softening, before his hand dropped away and his expression closed up again. "She's gone, back to the Fleet. We're on our own."

"Why didn't you go with her?" Sharon asked curiously.

He snorted a laugh. "And leave all this? But it's so much fun." He peeked out the back again after the truck made a turn. He turned and shot a glance at Jean. "Almost home." His smile was wry. "Yeah, now the fun starts." He looked at Sharon. "Stay close to me and we'll figure out what to do with you. If you disappear or you run, I can't protect you. So don't be stupid."

She nodded, understanding, as the serious and precarious nature of her situation hit home. She was an enemy prisoner; not an ally. _Stupid, foolish Eight. You'll be lucky if they don't form a mob and tear you limb from limb the minute they see you._

Her mental voice sounded just like a One, she realized, chastising her like a child. Why did the Ones make her skin crawl, where none of the other models did?

The truck pulled up to a stop and she listened to the chatter of other resistance members greeting the truck. How many were there, anyway? Then a familiar voice crawled under the other sounds and she froze, listening carefully, trying to filter out the other voices. She hoped she was only hearing things and it was only reminiscent of that other voice because she'd just been thinking of him. But then she heard it again and knew.

Another choice. Another point of no return. If she outed him, she could help prove her loyalty. If she didn't... then what the frak was she doing here? Besides it was too frakking late to back out now. Maybe this was a test? Maybe the One was an ally and they were testing her with his presence? It seemed odd for any One to want to help Humans, but either way she couldn't keep silent.

Sam was about to throw back the canvas to jump out and she blurted, quietly, "Sam!"

He stopped and looked back curiously.

She lifted her bound hands to beckon him closer. "Do you have another Cylon here? In camp?"

He hesitated. "No. Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because I can hear one."

"You lie," Jean accused. "Trying to set us against one another."

Sharon shook her head in denial and kept her voice quiet, "I swear. I hear the voice of a model One. I don't know what alias he's using but they're older-looking males, dark eyes, light-skinned. Most I know of have taken some sort of religious or spiritual cover, because they love to mock religion."

Sam looked as if he was about to vomit, pressing his lips together and turning pale. He knew exactly who she was talking about. His fingers tightened on his rifle. "He's a toaster. Cavil. That son of a bitch," he snarled furiously.

"You can't believe her, T," Barolay warned. "We don't know what game she's playing."

"I do believe her," he said in a low voice. "Frakkker. He told me -- he said --," he cut himself off, so angry he couldn't seem to find words. "I believed he was trying to help. That frakking son of a bitch." He punched the metal body of the truck, barely reacting even though it must have hurt his hand.

"They were the architects of the attacks," she told them, gaze swinging from Sam to Jean and back. "If you have one here, he's playing with you. He hates humans." She snorted. "And he doesn't think much of the rest of us either."

Jean poked her roughly with the gun. "Funny the other Sharon didn't mention him. Why's that?"

"I don't know --" she started, bewildered that the other Sharon wouldn't have said anything, but Sam was shaking his head.

"She never saw him, remember, Jean? He was 'sick.' He was camped out with Doc Simon the whole frakking time. Gods, we were stupid. Should've known." His gaze snapped up with a sudden realization, "He was hiding before Sharon. Because of Kara and Helo. Oh, shit, there must be a copy on _Galactica._ He didn't want them to see him."

"There is," Sharon confirmed. "I saw him. Right before... "

She didn't have to finish as Hillard came around from the front. "Hey, Anders, you guys still alive back here?"

Sam jumped out of the truck. "Yeah." He glanced at Jean. "You and Hillard, take him. Quiet."

"Take who?" Hillard asked in confusion, glancing at Sharon with sudden realization. "There's another one?" But Sam and Jean ignored him for a moment.

"Prisoner or dead?" Jean asked.

Sam's eyes flickered, and his lips twisted. "If we kill him, he'll resurrect. We'll have to evacuate."

"We should anyway. If he's a toaster, they know where we are," she returned and her eyes settled on Sharon. "I say we kill them both, and run."

"Jean--" he said heavily, and she lifted her free hand in an apology. He went on, "We need to time to pack our crap. We'll kill him when we're on our way out."

"Okay, okay," she gave in with a sigh and jumped down to his side. "We'll take him alive. For now."

"If he sees me, he'll know I'm the one who outed him," Sharon said, trying not to ask, but unable to keep the plea out of her voice.

Jean smiled. "We'll have to make sure he knows then. Hillard, let's go."

Sharon watched them go, wishing she could call them back and then taking a deep breath to realize her life was no longer in her own hands. She'd rolled the hard six and she had to deal with it now. She raised her eyes again to see Sam watching her. For a moment his expression seemed sympathetic as if he realized that she'd just cast herself with them. Then he beckoned with his gun, "Out. I need to get you somewhere secure. Cripke, need you," he called.

She climbed out and saw that they were in some kind of abandoned institution - a factory or hospital or something like that with several buildings clustered around a courtyard. Many of the window panels were broken, and had been long before the attacks. There were also several dozen people gathered there in the courtyard where there were some other large trucks and one military APC. Some of the people were young and fit, probably related to the team, and some were older and more grizzled. She could hear the exclamations and whispers as she emerged and word spread that they had a toaster prisoner. They were all, to the last, wary and carried weapons.

"Anders, what the hell?" another one of the C-Bucs was the first to challenge him. "What're you bringing another one of them here for?"

"Shoot it!" another called.

Sam raised his voice, raking his gaze over the gathering. "Sharon has offered to turn on her own kind and help us, just like the other Eight did. I'm taking her to the office to interrogate. Cripke, get some people to help you unload the trucks. Let's go, people, move."

It was a bold move, making it all happen so fast that they barely had time to react before he was indicating the way with her own sidearm. The resistance members parted for her, glaring, and some fingered weapons, but no one attacked her. Pretty much by the sheer force of surprise and his presence they made it to the side door and inside.

"I sure hope this is worth it," he muttered once they were inside the building in a long hallway with doors coming off it. It was a school, she realized, getting a look at some desks piled together through one of the open doors.

"I really do mean it," she tried to reassure him.

"Hopefully so, or I'm gonna be very sorry I'm keeping you alive." He shoved her shoulder to go through a door into what could have been some sort of administration office - there was a big desk, piled with papers and a few books, and three large metal filing cabinets, with their locks forced open and one drawer missing. "Sit there."

She sat down in the indicated metal chair by the wall and he leaned against the big desk, watching her. "I didn't know you're their leader," she offered after a moment, when he didn't speak. "I figured you were on a recon team or something."

He shrugged. "Lucky you," he said. "So Cavil's a Cylon. How many models are there?"

"Seven," she answered promptly. Something flickered on the edge of her awareness, like a flame out of the corner of her eyes, as if that wasn't quite right, but then she thought it was a memory of Baltar trying to force her to tell him how many Cylons were in the Fleet.

He frowned. "That's all? But you're an Eight, aren't you?"

"There are no Sevens," she explained. "We were told the the prototype was boxed as flawed. They don't exist."

He counted on his fingers, taking stock of all the ones the resistance had seen and identified. "Then we've found them all now, thanks to you. That's convenient," he observed lifted his eyebrows ironically.

"It's the truth!" she objected, raising her hands in some futile effort to reach him before setting them back in her lap again. "Ask me more questions," she asked. "Ask me questions you already know the answers to. Test me. I'll tell you anything I know. I want to help you. And as soon as your people tell Cavil I turned on them, I can't go back. I'm on your side."

He picked up a sheet of paper on the desk, frowning at it. "How many baby farms are there?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Where? In this region? There are," she counted them up in her mind, knowing she'd accessed that in the datastream, "six. I know their locations."

He tried to keep his expression a mask, but his jaw clenched. "We know of five. I'm going to want you to show them to me on a map. If we get in, can you help us liberate the prisoners?"

"I don't know; it's not an area I know much about, but I can try," she volunteered. She had the feeling it was going to be difficult; they made the test subjects dependent on the machines, but maybe there was a way. She would try, at least, if Sam would give her a chance. He looked about as sick at the thought of those places as she felt.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall and then a knock on the door frame and they both looked to find Hillard there. "Got him," Hillard reported to Sam. "He says he's not a toaster. Locked him in the teacher's lounge, tied to a chair. Jean's watching him. We didn't tell him about her yet."

Sam nodded and straightened, expression grim. "Bring her." He left his rifle on the desk and handed his sidearm to Hillard. "Bet he's gonna try to provoke me into killing him," he explained off Hillard's curious look. "Kneecap her if she resists or tries to escape. No killing."

Hillard nodded and gestured with the gun. "Get up, toaster." She felt more vulnerable with someone else watching her, as they trailed after Sam. Hillard didn't know her, and he didn't owe her anything.

They went up the wide stairs, initials of kids who were probably dead painted on the walls of the stairwell, as the sunlight scattered through the jagged windows high above. Jean was waiting for them outside a closed door with a broken-out window. "He's in there."

Sam went in the empty classroom and Hillard let Sharon get close enough to peek in. There was Cavil tied to a chair, hands behind his back. "Sam!" he greeted Sam with relief. "Thank the gods! They think I'm a Cylon."

And then surprising her and, going by the flinches next to her, surprising Jean and Hillard too, Sam backhanded Cavil across the face. "Shut up. You're a toaster."

He worked his jaw as he straightened. "I'm not!" he protested, sounding desperate and genuine, "I swear. Whoever gave you that information, is lying."

Sharon saw the doubt flicker on Hillard's face and suddenly angry, she moved a little closer to put her face in the window. "You are such a frakking liar!" she spat.

His cold dark eyes flipped up to see her and even his moment's surprise passed quickly, for a knowing smile. He didn't try to protest again, just let the pretense go as if it didn't matter anymore. "I see. So Sharon Valerii turns into a traitor after all."

"Traitor? I'd rather be a traitor than a murderous monster like you!" she accused.

"Or in your case, both," Cavil said poisonously. "How did it feel when you shot Commander Adama, Eight? Did you feel like a murderous monster?" his gaze lifted to Sam, who looked shocked. "Oh, did she not tell you? She tried to assassinate Adama - would've succeeded, too, if she wasn't such a lousy shot. That's how she outed herself as a Cylon to them. That was after she tried to blow up the water tanks on the ship, by the way."

"You made me do it!" She slammed the door with her bound hands. "I'd never have hurt anybody if not for you! They were my friends!" Tears choked in her throat, thinking of all she'd lost -- her friends, her family, Galen, _everything_ \-- because Cavil had used her as his Trojan horse to try and destroy the people she loved. She sniffled and looked at Sam, "I found out everything was a lie. I was a lie. But I'm not lying now. He's a liar - all the Ones have been liars all along. They lie to you, and they lie to the rest of the Cylon - there isn't a single bit of honor or decency in any of them."

"As if humans have any either," he snorted disdainfully and looked up at Sam. "So, when's the execution set? I assume we're going to get shot just like Doctor Simon when you found out about him."

Sharon's stomach lurched with sudden fear, especially as Sam smiled faintly at Cavil in dark amusement. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you. Not for a long, long time, 'Father Cavil.'"

"Torture then?" he retorted and shook his head in mock pity. "So much for honor or decency."

"You know nothing about it!" Sam hit him again, lashing out, then stopped himself, breathing hard as he looked down at the slumping figure. "You betrayed me," he said in tight, furious voice that made Sharon ache with the hurt in it. "I trusted you, and you betrayed me. You helped get my people killed; you told me things I know now were only to seed doubt and fear --" He broke off, clenching his hands and inhaling a deep breath to calm down and make his voice level. "So yes, I'm going to kill you. But not right now."

Sharon saw the alarm flash in One's eyes and took a perverse pleasure in it; he was seeing his toys slip from his hands and it was delicious. Their eyes met and he went on the attack. Had he always been so obvious in his manipulations?

"I hope you're as happy about being a traitor to your race, Eight, when the humans are gang-raping you in the courtyard," he sneered. "Before they torture and kill you. The humans are animals; haven't you figured that out by now?"

"That's not going to happen. I won't allow it," Sam declared, glancing at Sharon in reassurance. "I'll give her a chance. The same chance I would've given you if you hadn't been a frakking liar. _You_ brought this war, not us."

He turned away, so he didn't see, but Sharon saw the confusion and uncertainty in Cavil's face, as if Sam had said something he almost couldn't understand at all. "You - you're not going to kill her?"

At the door, Sam opened it and turned back. "No, I won't. Unless she betrays me. And if she does, she'll get what I'm going to give you." He glanced at Hillard and ordered, "Gag him, I think he's going to try to provoke our guys into killing him if we don't shut him up. But I don't want him dead yet."

"Sam!" Cavil called urgently. "Sam, wait! no, you son of a bitch, let me talk to him--" he protested frantically as Hillard shoved a cloth in his mouth and shut him up.

Sam ignored all of it. "Back to the office."

Sharon sat on the same chair by the wall without being told, as Sam yanked open a desk drawer. He tapped out a cigarette from a crumpled pack inside and used the lighter from his pocket to light it. He perched on the edge of the desk and took a deep drag on the cigarette, before pulling an empty food can over for an ashtray. Then, voice calm again, he told Jean, "Gather everyone together. I'm going to have to tell everyone what's going on and we're going to have to leave this place."

She nodded. "Where are we going?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Frak if I know." He looked at Sharon. "Any ideas?"

"I -" she glanced down and then up again. "If I suggested anywhere and you went there and it was attacked, you'd never trust me."

He let out a wry chuckle. "True." Rubbing a hand over his chin and the beard growing there, he let out a gusty sigh. "Frak, I need a drink."

"No time for that, Team Captain," Jean teased. "You have shit to do. People to save. That sort of thing. No time for drinking."

"I don't think the twenty cubits extra a week is enough compensation for this," he muttered.

She squeezed his shoulder. "You're doing fine, T," she reassured him. Sharon couldn't help a smile, watching them, remembering the camaraderie of the _Galactica_. This was similar, and warmed something inside her to see it again here.

"You got my back?" he asked Jean.

"Always," she promised. Her glance flickered to Sharon and then back to him and she smiled and teased, "Even when you're an idiot. I'll gather them in the courtyard; and you can come give your speech to the flock."

When she'd left the room, he started stacking papers and folding a map, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was quiet as he worked, and Sharon wondered if he'd forgotten she was there. But he hadn't, when she moved, shifting to cross her legs, his eyes darted to her, alert and wary.

"You're reckless with me," she observed. "I could've killed you by now, a whole bunch of times."

His lips made a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Whether you mean us all harm or not, I don't think assassinating me is on your agenda, at least not right now. Is it true, what he said? You tried to kill Commander Adama?"

"I shot him," she answered, bending her neck to let her hair fall in front of her face. "He was congratulating me and Racetrack on finding more water, when I pulled my sidearm and shot him. I ... tried not to. I didn't want to - inside I was _screaming_ but, I did it anyway."

He listened without judgment. "Maybe that's what this is? you want to help us, but you're also programmed to harm us? How can I ever trust that?"

Her heart beat faster, and her fingers twisted together again. "When I resurrected it was with full memories of myself as a Cylon. I ... didn't like it, but that sleeper programming is gone."

"And you know this for sure? You can swear there isn't anything else?" he demanded. There was something in his eyes, a burning intensity that made her want to tell him the truth, even if it doomed her.

"I ... can't swear to it absolutely," she murmured, slumping. "I don't believe so, but I don't know how they did it to me in the first place, so no, I can't swear," she admitted. And it sucked, she now realized, but now she couldn't even fully trust herself, and Sam couldn't fully trust her. Not if she didn't know her own mind. She thought she did -- but she'd thought that before.

"I think that's really terrible," he said, and her gaze snapped up, alarmed, but he continued, "that they would use one of their own, like that. It's one thing to do it to an enemy - I don't like it, but at least I understand the principle of it - but to one of your own. That's cruel."

Touched by the unexpected understanding, she swallowed down the lump in her throat. "We're disposable," she said, bitterly. "Always plenty more. All alike."

His eyes settled on her and he seemed thoughtful as he smoked his cigarette, before grinding it out and standing up. "Come on. If I've got to parade you like a lion on a leash, let's at least go put on a show, right?"

She couldn't help a flicker of a smile, and readily joined him at the door. Hillard was there waiting, and offered, "I'll watch her, T."

He took up a post behind her, leaving Sam to go out into the courtyard, that was buzzing with the news in the fading light. There were even more people than Sharon had thought, including a few children, held behind their parents' bodies when they saw her. She tried to stand behind and off to the side from Sam and look harmless, between Hillard and Jean. Someone in the crowd threw something at her, but she didn't have time to duck, because Hillard reached out and caught it.

"Stop!" Sam called out. "None of that! Sharon came to us, offering her help! We won't turn on her. We won't show her only the ugly side of humanity. We won't be less than they are! We're smarter than that. She revealed the last infiltrator in our midst -- that Father Cavil is a Cylon, too. He admitted it in interrogation and he's unrepentant about the betrayal he's committed against all of us."  
.  
Some people had heard already, but some had not and the shock and dismay ran through the crowd like a jolt of electricity. Sam let it spread for a moment before calling their attention back, "Yes, that means they know where we are. They always have and they've been toying with us the whole time. We've gotten complacent here at the school, but hopefully so have they, thinking we're boxed in here. So our first play is to evacuate someplace they don't know about. I want this place packed up -- all weapons, ammo, food, and medical supplies spread out on the trucks. Other supplies as they fit. Two hours we move out. Let's go!"

She watched them disperse without argument, though not without grumbling, and she held back a smile. It was almost military, but not quite.

Sam watched, answering some questions as people came up to him and refusing to answer the question of where they were going. "Lydia, Enrico," he called two older people, not dressed in team gear, "need you in the office to talk about where to go. Jean, you two stash Sharon someplace safe - and I mean, not just safe for us against her, but safe for her, too. Then come to the office, too."

Sharon's last look of him was with the late afternoon sunlight casting orange highlights in his hair as he talked earnestly to a woman with a child who came up to him then springing away from her to help with a heavy crate.

Jean and Hillard put her in an empty janitorial closet. Jean glared at her. "I hope you know if you betray us, it won't be Sam you'll deal with; it'll be us."

"I'm here to help," Sharon promised.

"I hope so," Hillard muttered. "Stay here. One of us will come for you when we move out, if Sam still wants you with us." He left the overhead light on and shut the door. She heard a key in the lock and the two of them walked away.

She settled herself on the floor, hoping the lingering chemical odor in the small space wasn't going to make her high or giddy. She heard activity outside and wished they could trust her to help them with this. But it was too early for that, and the best way she could earn their trust was to stay right here and wait.

She leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes.

_I am Sharon Valerii, and I am a member of the Resistance._

Maybe it was too early to claim that, but it felt good to think it anyway. She would make it true.


End file.
